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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708914">Petrified wood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/grisc/pseuds/grisc'>grisc</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Also this fic is sympathetic towards Wilbur as a character FYI, Amnesia, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Dream SMP Spoilers!, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, I adore the ghostbur arc for its fluffiness but the angst potential is so goddamn high, Mental Health Issues, Not A Fix-It, Not trying to justify his terrible actions but he's more nuanced than just a villain, Short One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, This whole fic is kind of just depressing lmao, don't ask me about the semantics of hugging a ghost I don't CARE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:55:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/grisc/pseuds/grisc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I remember the things that made me happy," Wilbur had said. "I remember you killing me."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Floris | Fundy &amp; Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>174</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Petrified wood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Come in, then."</p><p>Phil took a deep breath, grip tightening around the papers he had in one hand before doing so. Although the sewer beneath the crane was far from ideal, the actual home Wilbur had fixed up within was actually quite cozy. Or maybe it was just the atmosphere the newfound Wilbur put off; so welcoming, so unaware of the complicated mess he helped create. It was almost like speaking to old Wilbur-- the Wilbur Phil had known so many years ago. </p><p>Except Phil wasn't sure how long even that was going to last, with the way things seemed to be headed.</p><p>He closed the door behind him, peering around the corner. Wilbur was sitting cross legged in the other room, staring into the firepit with a vacant expression. Whatever he'd been brewing had been abandoned to overflow at the stand, and Phil grimaced as he stepped over the bubbling mess. </p><p>"Will?" He stepped into the second room, crouching beside him. "Is it a good time to talk about... things?"</p><p>Wilbur swallowed, then nodded. "Yes," he said quickly, stumbling to his feet. "Yes, of course, of course, Phil. Sit down, then-- I'll... can I get you anything? I swear I have some food around here somewhere, I swear I do..." </p><p>Phil watched him scurry around, muttering mostly to himself and avoiding eye contact at all costs. He sank down in one of the seats, setting the adoption files in front of him. He knew the conversation they needed to have probably wasn't going to be very pretty. "I don't need anything, Will," he called. "Thank you, though."</p><p>"Nothing?" Wilbur asked, popping back in and anxiously wiping his nonexistent hands on his nonexistent pants. Sometimes it was so easy to forget that he was dead. </p><p>"I'm fine," Phil assured him, motioning towards the papers. "I think we should just get to it."</p><p>"Of course," Wilbur repeated, sitting down beside him. </p><p>There was a long stretch of silence. Clearly Wilbur was intent on making things as difficult as possible, which Phil had kind of expected, so he cleared his throat and opened the file, spreading out the documents and the lines of signatures. Fundy's photo was among them, and Wilbur's gaze visibly stuttered over the image. </p><p>"Listen, Will, we both know what this is about. We already talked about it. And while you're technically gone, and don't have a proper say in the matter, I also know that you care about Fundy a lot and this has to be real hard on you." </p><p>Wilbur smiled, but it was a cracked, broken thing. "Oh, I'm not--"</p><p>"Will." Phil nearly raised a hand to put on his shoulder before stopping himself. "Please, just... I also just wanted to let you know that I've talked with Eret. I've been more than thorough with him-- Fundy is technically my grandson, and I care just as much about his safety and wellbeing as you do. I wasn't here for Eret's betrayal, I can't speak for that, but I can say I believe that Eret does have good intentions. I think Fundy will be very happy with him. It's been a long time since that betrayal. People change, Wilbur."</p><p>It hurt to see the grief in his son's expression. <em>You've changed, too.</em></p><p>When he said nothing, Phil continued, "I know you're trying, I know you don't remember things and you don't understand why this is happening. And I know you aren't a bad person, not really, but ultimately this isn't up to me, or you, or Eret. This is Fundy's decision, and he's-- well. He's been quite clear. This is what he wants."</p><p>"...And he'll be happy, you said?" Wilbur asked, voice thin.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, Wilbur. </em>
</p><p>He nodded. </p><p>Wilbur tilted his head, examining the photo of Fundy resting on the tabletop. His bone-white fingers stretched over it. "Then sign it," Wilbur said. "Fundy needs a father. A good one, a father who's alive. And if you agree that it should be Eret, then... then sign it, Phil."</p><p>"I'm sorry, Will," Phil said gently, reaching out and placing his hand over Wilbur's. It was freezing and felt horribly wrong to touch, but he kept it there anyway. "I think you're making the right decision. The fact that you're doing the best thing for him means you <em>have</em> changed for the better."</p><p>Wilbur met his gaze for a moment before pulling away, tucking his hands under the table, and watching carefully as Phil took out his own quill and began scribbling down his signature on several dotted lines. Finishing up the documents took little more than a few minutes, and soon enough the file was sealed back up. It was done. Legally speaking, Fundy was Eret's adopted son.</p><p>"You're surprised."</p><p>"It would be a difficult thing for anyone to agree to," Phil pointed out. "Maybe you don't have all your memories, but you remember Fundy, don't you?"</p><p>There was a far-off look in Wilbur's eye when he replied, "Of course I do. I remember the good things."</p><p>Phil paused. <em>"I</em><em> remember the things that made me happy,</em>" Wilbur had said. <em>"I remember you killing me."</em></p><p>Hmm.</p><p>There was a thought itching at the back of his mind, demanding entrance even though he had a feeling nothing good would come from it. But thought was growing into an idea, growing into a picture, framing something that he already knew as truth. Because Wilbur <em>did</em> remember Phil killing him after the bomb went off despite his insistence that he had only retained memories that brought him happiness. And that meant--</p><p>He already knew the answer to whatever question was forming. It hadn't been an act of rage, it had been out of mercy. Wilbur had begged him for the axe the second the dust began settling. The knot in Phil's throat tightened.</p><p>"Do you remember asking me to kill you?"</p><p>Wilbur frowned. "I already told you that I did."</p><p>"So you're... you're happy that you died, then?"</p><p>He could only watch as Wilbur threw his head back and began laughing. Only after several minutes of uncontrollable hacking did Wilbur manage to elaborate.</p><p>"Phil, my son hates me enough to replace his own father with a low-life traitor, my little brother doesn't even want to speak to me, I live in a sewer aimlessly collecting books, and every single day I learn about another horrific thing I did when I was still alive. Whatever kind of person I was before all of this, let me be extremely clear: I despise that man just as much as the rest of you. I know you're a good man, Phil, and if even you, of all people, decided that killing me was the best option--" Wilbur ran a hand over his face. "Then I'd be inclined to agree with you. I'm glad you put an end to whoever I was. I just wish you'd been thorough enough that I wouldn't still be here now." </p><p>The words were as ugly and raw as an open wound. Phil's heart ached for him.</p><p>"Will," he said softly, "I will <em>always</em> love you."</p><p>"You shouldn't," Wilbur snapped. </p><p>"It doesn't matter. I promise you, I <em>promise you</em>, no matter what you've done, no matter what you do, you will always be my son."</p><p>Wilbur's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. His hands trembled as he pulled them up to cover the evidence, but Phil wouldn't stand another second of it. He came forward, wrapping his arms around Wilbur and trying not to shudder at the sensation of embracing the literal embodiment of death. The cold wrapped around him as Wilbur leaned into the touch, shoulders heaving with repressed sobs as he finally broke down. </p><p>Phil felt something within himself break. He wished he had something more comforting to give. </p><p>"I've got you," he murmured, gritting his teeth as his own eyes began stinging. "I've got you, Will. It's alright."</p><p>And in the light of the nearby fireplace, the two of them held each other and wept, grieving for the sons that they'd lost.</p><p> </p>
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